


Of Kings and Their Queens

by Xanisis



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: (david is queen, 5 Times, M/M, he just doesn't know it yet), how did i write fluff?, it's such an angsty show, jack is king, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanisis/pseuds/Xanisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times David didn't notice that that he and Jack were dating and the one time that he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Kings and Their Queens

i.

 

David's still trying to adjust to the calm, still trying to figure out how to live his life without having to worry about what Silas is going to do next. Silas is dead, he reminds himself, Silas is dead and Jack, Jack is king. When Silas had been alive, he'd felt like he lived every moment on the blade's edge, just waiting to fall off. He hadn't imagined that Jack's kingship would bring peace, but there it is.

“You’re going out with me tonight,” David hears from behind him.

“What?” he asks, turning around and seeing Jack striding towards him. He looks more relaxed than David has seen him in a long time, jacket off, shirt unbuttoned, hair tousled. He looks like the Jack that David used to see in magazines, all carefree elegance and roguish smiles.

“Tonight,” he repeats, looking at David over the tops of his sunglasses. “We’re going out.”

“Can you do that?”

Jack laughs. “Kings can do what they want. That’s why we’re kings.”

He takes a moment to stare at David, eyes appraising. He has a way of making David feel conscious of every little thing, like maybe Jack’s the only one who really sees him, flaws and all.

“Just wear something that’s not that. Okay?” Jack says eventually.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” David asks, looking down at his shirt.

There is laughter in Jack’s eyes. “I’ll have my driver pick you up at seven.”

 

ii.

 

David has never really liked clubbing. He doesn’t like the excess of it, the way the alcohol flows too fast down his throat and into his veins. He doesn’t like the dizziness or the looseness in his limbs or the way that the lights spin in a hypnotic fashion, blue and green and red all dancing behind his eyelids. Everything seems hazy and unreal, like something happening in a dream, like he’s living someone else’s life. The crowd whirls around him, a mad rush of bodies and faces, each of them indistinct and anonymous. Then there’s Jack, standing out in technicolor.

David leans in towards him, to tell him something maybe, what he doesn’t know, and then Jack leans in too and before he knows it their lips are touching, almost like an accident. Jack tastes of vodka and bitterness and something like longing. It’s over in a moment, almost like it didn’t happen, but David’s lips are tingling and he can still taste Jack on his tongue.

His head pounds along with the bass of the music, a heady beat. He drank too much. He drank too much and he may have kissed Jack. This is why he doesn’t go clubbing. He always seems to do stupid things.

 

iii.

 

“How long will it take you to pack?” Jack asks the moment David opens the door.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, tapping out a message on his phone, the sun streaking his hair with red and gold. It’s interesting, David has always thought of him in shades of black.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“You are,” he says shortly. “Pack what you want to keep. I’ll send some movers over this afternoon.”

David furrows his brow. “Movers?”

“Yes, David. Movers,” Jack says, looking at him like he’s an idiot. “They transfer your stuff when you want to move.”

“And where am I moving?”

Jack rolls his eyes, sticking his phone in his back pocket. David feels vaguely uncomfortable now that he has his full attention. They still haven’t discussed the kiss. David assumes that they’re just going to pretend that it never happened, but it still makes him uncomfortable. Jack may be used to keeping things hidden, but David’s always preferred everything to be out in the open, he’s not made for secrets.  

“Into the palace of course,” Jack says, like it’s a sentence that makes sense. “You didn’t think you could avoid it forever, did you?”

“Jack-” David starts.

“You wouldn’t disobey your king, would you?” he asks, and there’s something reminiscent of Silas in Jack’s eyes, as if he knows that he has David exactly where he wants him.

 

iv.

 

David has trouble sleeping, his dreams plagued with dead kings and crowns made of butterflies. He’s taken to wandering the castle at night, feet taking him through the cold, beautiful halls. It reminds him of Rose, he can feel her touch in everything he sees. It’s unnerving and he longs sometimes for his small apartment, it at least had felt like a home. David’s wanderings take him into the kitchen late one night and he’s startled to find Jack sitting in the dark, holding a bottle of bourbon, his fingers gripping the neck as if he wants to break it. The moonlight adds an eerie light to his face, turning him into a study in contrasts.

“Are you alright?” David asks.

Jack starts at the sound and when he looks up and sees it’s David, he gives a bitter little laugh. David’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not, not sure why he cares what Jack thinks of him anyways.

“Not really,” he replies, takes a swig of alcohol. That’s probably the appropriate response.

David doesn’t say anything, waits for him to expand, sitting down at the table beside him.

“I’m not sure if I can do this, David,” Jack says, eventually. There’s something intensely fragile about the way he says it, like they’re both standing on the edge of something, what David doesn’t know.

“What? Of course you can. You were meant to do this.”

Jack laughs.

“Sometimes you don’t seem real,” he says, turning and looking at him. His face seems looser, like he's always holding it so still and only now has he let it relax. It makes David's heart hurt. “Like you’re something that my dad just dreamed up. An angel boy.”

“I’m not an angel,” David says.

“Well, you’re as close as I’ll ever come,” he says, looks at David with endless eyes, filled with some vast emotion that David can't name. David can never tell what he’s really thinking, can never quite solve the puzzle of his face. But it’s times like these that he finds he really wants to.

 

v.

 

David will never really be used to servants waiting on him, changing his sheets, washing his clothes, cooking his meals. He's taken to trying to find small ways to avoid it. He likes to cook when he can, to taste something he's made with his own hands. It's a silly form of rebellion, but it makes him feel better.

“And he cooks.”

“I wouldn’t say that-” David starts, looking up from the skillet. He's making pancakes, omelets had reminded too much of someone he'd rather not think about.

“Take the compliment, David,” Jack says.

David’s not really sure it was a compliment, but everything with Jack has a hidden meaning. He tries not to put too much of an emphasis on anything.

“Do you want some?” he asks, after a moment.

“Food cooked by the wonderboy?” Jack asks, peering at him over the paper. Jack in the morning is almost overwhelming, too rumpled and bright eyed to be real. “How could I resist?”

“So, that’s a yes, then?”

Jack smiles. David thinks of the Jack from a year ago, the way the smile had seemed out of place on his face, a fake, flimsy thing-- and smiles back.

“That’s a yes.”

 

i.

 

David’s not entirely sure what his role at the palace is, he thinks it’s something like advisor, but it’s never been clarified and he thinks it might be somewhat rude to ask. Everyone around him treats him with kids gloves, eager to cater to his every whim, but he can’t shake the sensation that he doesn’t fit, can’t get rid of the unnerving sense that he should be looking over his shoulder. A year ago, he would have thought that with Jack as king, he would be as far away from the palace as possible, but here he is, having drinks with the upper class.

“It must have been terrifying,” the girl across from him says.

She’s pretty, he thinks in a kind of removed way. Not too long ago, he would have been too intimidated to even look at her, now he just finds her tiresome.

“Sure,” David says.

“You were very brave,” she says, looking at him from behind lidded eyes. The act is getting old.

“That’s kind of you to say,” he says.

“David,” he hears from behind him, and his shoulders slump in relief.

Jack looks every bit the king, like something out of a painting, too beautiful for the real world. He smiles at the girl, David’s embarrassed to realize he doesn’t even remember her name, but it’s one of his fake ones, not quite reaching his eyes.

He places his hand on David's back, a warm, comforting presence. He's close enough that David can smell his cologne, sharp and almost bitter. And then he's moving even closer and David doesn't even realize what's happening until they're kissing. Jack kisses him hard, like he's branding him, like he wants him to remember, and it takes David a moment to notice that he's kissing back, that he wants to be kissing him back. It's Jack that pulls back, smirking at him in a self satisfied way. The area around them has gone quiet, but David can't even focus on anything but Jack.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," he says and then he disappears into the crowd.

It falls silent for a moment. David can't seem to catch his breath. Were they... dating? David thinks of Jack's smiles, how they seemed to change the shape of his face, adding color to his features. He thinks of the teasing affection in his voice and the look in his eyes when he'd called David an angel, like he was going to church. Dating Jack. It doesn't sound entirely unappealing.

 


End file.
